The Lamentable Consequences Of Venery
by sbrianson
Summary: All is not well in paradise, as Sirius's too many late nights and excuses start to wear thin... Slash.
1. The Suspicion

The Lamentable Consequences Of Venery

by Stan Brianson

**Pairing**: Sirius Black / Remus Lupin

**Rating**: "M" – for language and implied sexual interraction, both hetero- and homosexual

**Disclaimer**: This story is fictional – that's F-I-C-T-I-O-N. It never happened, and is not real. It is the product of my own imagination. It contains implications of male slash (that's male/male homosexual relations). If you do not like this type of content, or if you find homosexuality or its practice offensive, please click the "Back" button or close your Internet browser NOW, and do not read any further. All characters and copyrights are owned by J.K Rowling and Warner Brothers™ (AOL Time Warner), but this story is owned by me and is all my own work.

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Chapter One – The Suspicion

He's working late again. That would make it only the third time this week, but the fifteenth time this month. It's April the twenty-first. I know, I know, I'm being ridiculous. It doesn't mean anything, I'm sure. It's just another emergency. But it's _always_ a fucking emergency – aren't there any other bloody Healers in that dratted hospital? And why is it always an _emergency_, anyway? Why can't he be working late in order to catch up on some paperwork? I mean, everyone who has anything to do with St Mungo's knows that all the paperwork (and I mean _all_ of the paperwork) gets palmed off onto the Junior Healers! I mean, he can't be doing all his referrals and prescriptions on duty, only to do the real medical work hours after his shift has ended, can he?

I know, I know… I'm just being paranoid… after all, I was the one who succeeded where everyone else failed, wasn't I? I became the exalted one who could truthfully call Healer Black my live-in boyfriend. And that, as I well know, is a position which a million girls would die for! And a million boys too, for that matter…

And I know that he is trying to specialise in Lycanthropic Infections, but for now he is stuck on rotation in Explosive Injuries, and that would explain perfectly why he always comes in after working late reeking of stale smoke. But lately, the smoke has stopped smelling of gunpowder and taken on the smouldering odour of cigarettes. And beer. Now tell me, what sort of Healer comes home off duty smelling of booze and fags, rather than medicines and disinfectant? To tell the truth, it's as if he's not been at work at all, but in the pub 'round the corner of the hospital…

Now Remus, stop it! This is what we call "paranoia"…

What is it, eh? Is the whole arrangement too good to be true or something? It's like I'm _looking_ for reasons to suspect him of playing away! Is it so fucking good that I'm so petrified for some reason that it might work out and that I'll actually be – God forbid – _happy _for once that I'm trying to sabotage everything that I've longed for, everything that I've worked so hard to get… everything that I've sodding _earned_, for Chrissakes?! Goddammit, Professor R. J. Lupin! Teachers are supposed to be wise people, people with all the answers to everyone's problems!

Well… I don't suppose I'm much of a teacher, really. I just teach preschoolers, you know, nine- to eleven-year-olds. All werewolves, like me – well, it's the only group of kids I'd be safe around, apparently. Now, what I'd _really_ like to be doing is to be teaching in Hogwarts itself, probably something like Charms or Defence Against the Dark Arts. But I suppose I'm happy enough teaching the younger ones literacy, numeracy and werewolf safety, and trying to get some of the kids accepted into Hogwarts as bright young students, eager to learn, in full knowledge and control about their lycanthropy and all that. It's not my _real _specialty, but it _is_ decently-paid, honest work, and it does give me full status as a Ministry Registered Teacher. Oh, I remember Sirius being so proud of me when I qualified and got the job… He rushed out straight away and bought me my briefcase as a congratulations present. Made of lush black leather, with Prof. R. J. Lupin stamped on the side in embossed gold lettering, it made me feel like the dog's fucking nuts when I walked into my new classroom on my first day, I can tell you!

He can be dead thoughtful like that, see? Oh, he was so proud of me that day! But then again, why is he so iffy whenever I go into the hospital myself? I mean, I get the whole him not being allowed to see visitors when he's on duty in case they distract him, but even when I've been admitted after a particularly nasty full moon, he pretends that he doesn't know me at all. He says that it's so that he can visit me and take care of me – that if nobody knows that we know each other outside the hospital, he can sneak into my room on the pretext of routine procedures or taking research notes or whatnot. But the last time I was in, when I told the Mediwitch that I was living with him, she just replied coldly "Oh. I didn't realise that Healer Black had a _boyfriend_," and gave me such a poisonous _look_… and the Mediwizard on nights kept on glaring at me from the Medimage's Station and "forgetting" to give me my painkillers…

Shortly after Sirius started working late…

Oh, well. I'm sure it's nothing. _Really_. But then again, Sirius doesn't wear cologne to work – he's not allowed to – so why does he always seem to smell of it after he's been "_working late_"? And how many times after he's been "_working late_" has he kissed me goodnight, saying "not tonight, love. Sorry, but I'm just too knackered." Or simply come home after I've gone to sleep?

How many times can it be "nothing" before "nothing" turns into "_something_"?

Oh, sod it! Enough of these stupid thoughts! I'm probably over-sensitive because of the full moon approaching, anyway. I think I'll just go to bed and have a good night's sleep. _In my pyjamas_. No sex for him tonight – when he gets back, he'll just have to use his hand like the fucking rest of us. God knows _I've _had to make do with my own devices for weeks. I'm not waiting up for him just to be rejected again tonight.


	2. The Confirmation

Chapter Two – The Confirmation

Right… one word – "_sprung!_" I mean, how much more obvious can you get? He excuses himself to 'go to the gents'. Two minutes later, she announces that she needs to 'go and powder her nose'… Ten minutes later, they both appear at the doorway to the toilets and make their separate ways back to the table: her weaving through the maze of tables, him walking alongside the bar. He gets back first, slumping himself down on his chair with a satisfied sigh; she sits gently, gingerly, ladylike onto hers. He is noticeably more relaxed, less fidgety and seems not to notice or remember that it does not take ten minutes to walk up to a urinal, unzip, whip it out, skin it back, relieve yourself and then stow everything back away again; her face is flushed with a feint brushing of pink, pupils dilated, that inconcealable "just-been-fucked afterglow-of-doom" grin…

Plus, I saw them coming out of the ladies together…

What's the matter, Lily – is Prongs not man enough for you? Too small? Too fast? Can't get it up? That crap in bed that you had to shag _my_ boyfriend? And it's really rather obvious, sweetie, _not for the first time, either_!

Do they think that I'm _stupid_ or something? That I came down in the last fucking shower? Born yesterday, not to mention a whole list of other cheesy (and also curiously insulting) clichés? _Honestly_! I mean, I could understand it if it was Wormy that they thought they were deceiving, but me? _Me_?! I'm a teacher, for Chrissakes! Alright – I may not be clever enough to be a Healer or an accountant or something, but they don't let just anyone into the teaching profession, I'll have you know!

At that moment, I don't know what hurts me more – that I've just confirmed for a fact that Sirius is cheating on me, that Sirius is cheating on me with another _woman_, or that two of my best friends in the whole world think that I am too ignorant to even notice their blatant sexual antics…

But what to do? Should I let them know that their little number's up? That I know? Or should I sit here and stew for the sake of a calm and pleasant evening? Well all too soon it looks like the decision has been made for me when all three of my companions keep asking me what's wrong, am I feeling okay with the whole moon approaching and whatnot, and what the fuck is up with me because I'm snapping and snarling at everybody all of a sudden and it's most unlike me, apparently. Then finally Wormtail realises that it's his round at the bar and buggers off to go and get the drinks in. Well, it's now or never, as they say. So I turn to them, Lily sitting opposite me, Sirius to my right with his arm draped casually around my shoulders – the fucking _gall_ of it! – and I give them my best icy stare which, admittedly not as good as the ones we all remember McGonagall throwing at us, still appears to have the fabulous ability to stop the inane bantering gossip between them and make them spin around to face me. Satisfied that I have their total and undivided (if not ever-so-slightly guilt-laced) attention, I turn to them and I say

"I know."

"Know? Know what, Remus?" Lily replies with a saccharine tongue.

"I know," I repeat.

"Moony, darling, what the hell are you talking about?" Sirius this time, who has the _nerve_… the utter _nerve_ to sound genuinely confused. Clearly I haven't put my point across sufficiently. Oh, well, once more with feeling and all that… I nod at Sirius, slowly, deliberately, and then turn my head and no at Lily.

"I… fucking… _know_…"

"Ah."

"Oh, dear." _Now_ they know. Now they know that I know.

Lily, at last, has the decency to look utterly mortified. But Sirius, well, he just raises his eyebrows at me.

"Y-you w-w-won't," Lily stammers, "you won't tell James, will you, Remus?"

"How long?"

"About three months, Remus. You _won't_ tell James though, will you?"

"Yes, Remus. I won't lie to you, you know that. But you won't te–"

"And _you_, Sirius?" I say, addressing him by his first name for the first time in six years as much for effect as to block out Lily who sounds remorseful only for the concern of her blasted husband finding out that she's fucking his best friend. "Will you tell me the truth about this?"

"Of course, darling. Have I _ever_ lied to you?"

"I won't answer that right now, if you don't mind, _darling_?"

"And what's _that_ supposed to mean, eh?"

"It means that I'm afraid of what I might say, Sirius." That shuts him up. "I mean, is Lily the only person who you've been seeing behind my back, eh? All those times when you've been '_working late_' yet come back home stinking of this very pub?

"Yes," he says, managing to keep a straight face and chillingly piercing eye-contact. "Lily is the only one. I'm so very sorry, but as a woman she could give me one or two things in the bed department which, for all your blessings, you couldn't give me. And you're right about the whole working late thing. Evidently it was a crappy excuse which, well… it sank without a ripple, didn't it?" he asks. I nod. "Except that some of the time," he adds, a little nervously now, "I really _was_ working late."

"Yeah, well… I swear to Go, Sirius, you had better not have fucking lied to me. Because if I find out that you have…"

"But, Remus," Lily pipes up _again_, "you… you won't tell James, will you?

"Drinks have arrived!" proclaims Wormtail, the Master of Shitty Timing, as he enthusiastically plonks down fresh alcohol in front of us, grinning. "Didn't miss much, did I"

"Oh, no, Peter," Lily giggles with an equally synthetic smile across her poisonous, treacherous lips. I raise my pint to the table and propose a toast.

"To old friends, and to getting to know them even better than before!"

"To old friends!" everyone choruses, Wormtail happily quaffing his own pint whilst the Whore of Babylon and Cassanova's Wannabe shoot be an uneasy, worried glance each. And maybe it's overly bitchy, or cruel, but I'm well past giving a rat's arse and I'm feeling a bit like a cruel bitch right now anyway. So I let a fantastically wolf-like grin spread across my own lips, deciding that perhaps it's time that they suffered, too. I think I'll just keep them both dangling for now – maybe I'll keep quiet about their little affair to Prongs; but then again, who knows what may accidentally _slip out_ when he arrives later after his shift and I've had a tiny bit too much to drink…

"Cheers!"


	3. The Consequence

Chapter Three – The Consequence

"_Dear Padfoot,_

_You are a shit_…"

I wonder what his face will look like when he gets home and finds the note on the kitchen table…

"..._an unbelievable, total fucking shit_…"

…with one of the best steak-knives slammed through the word '_Padfoot_', the blade embedded a good quarter-inch into the table-top itself. Will he be more concerned for the table, perhaps?…

"…_but worse than that, you're a liar. You have lied to my face time and time again_…"

…Just how bloody gullible does he think I am?…

"…_Do you perhaps consider me somewhat less intelligent than, say, a jam croissant? Because I can assure you that I am capable of mustering more brain-power than the average preserve-filled pastry product, you know_…"

…I wonder how long it will take him to work out that I've packed up all of my belongings; that there's not a trace of me left in the house anymore…

"…_I accepted your excuse with Lily, as well you know. Dating a bisexual man _does_ have the drawback of not being able to provide the facilities of both genders that he'd crave. It was plausible. It was _probable. _So I let it slide_…"

…I clutch the envelope I'm carrying tighter in my hand, until I can see fingernail marks in the paper, so I relax my grip again…

"…_I wrote _two_ notes, you know. You're reading the second. The first is a detailed account of all the evidence I used to work out that you and Lily were screwing around with each other, including both your confessions. It's in an envelope , addressed to James at his _work_ address_…"

…how could he? Just how fucking _could_ he?!…

"…_Now I know that you're a sporting man, Padfoot, and you like a good game of chance, so here's a good one for you._ _My new room has a fireplace. If I pass a letterbox on my way, I shall post it. But if I still have it when I reach my room, I shall burn it_…"

…I don't think he realises yet that I've been following him for the past week. You'd think that after getting caught with Lily, he'd lay off the bits-on-the-side, wouldn't you? I once thought that the worst thing that could happen to our relationship would be if he cheated on me with another woman. But after his explanations and apologies, I realised that the worst thing that could happen was actually if he cheated on me with another _man_…

"…_I know that his name is Mediwizard Bryn Jones. I know that you meet in the 'Pestle and Mortar' after work when you're working late or on your lunch hour together. I know that you prefer to fuck him in the left-hand cubicle of the gents. I know that he prefers you to take him in the position he calls doggy-style (how apt! ha!) And I know that you're cheating on him with Healer Janet Barnes, whom you shagged in sluice-room two on the fourth floor_…"

…Ah! There's something red coming up on my left. Oh, deary, deary me, Sirius – it appears to be a letterbox…

"…_Don't try to deny it. I simply will not tolerate being lied to any more_…"

…but as I pause, still gripping the letter through the slot of the letterbox, I suffer one of my dratted moments of conscience. Because even though posting the letter would spectacularly let me get my own back at him, and also at Lily, it would _destroy_ James – I mean, who would it hurt most, eh? Apart from me, that is…

"…_because it's time to face facts, Padfoot. You're pathetic. A total fucking loser. Nobody can ever be enough for you, can they? And it's take, take, take, with never a second's thought about who you hurt, or how, or even _why_! You're scum. You're a disappointing lover and a disappointment of a man. Because at the end of the day, you're just a shit of a bi, and you honestly make me so fucking angry that I'm afraid I just might hurt _myself…"

…As I walk into the 'Three Broomsticks', Tom runs up to me, telling me how he's got a livid Sirius Black in his fireplace saying that he'll talk to me, please, let's talk about this when I've had a chance to have some time to myself and calm down, but for the love of God have I posted that letter yet? Now he's not one to pry into people's private lives, Tom tells me, but what on earth does he tell Sirius? I tell Tom that I'll deal with it, and he leads me behind the bar to the miniature fireplace in the back-room. Sirius sees me, and in a quiet voice immediately asks about me and my health, suddenly so very concerned about me. I'm so touched. So I decide to walk up to the fireplace before retiring to my new bed, and I give him my answer.

"Ooh, well, you know me, Padfoot – I just _love_ a good mystery…"

The End


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